"Well, not exactly. I must be honest. He was adventuresome rather than wild. He was fond of yachting, and had a smart sailing boat in which he used to cruise amongst the islands. Warrender frequently went with him. Beauchamp was a very handsome man, and extremely popular with women. I know that to my cost," he added bitterly, "when he set his affections on Zelia. She was my wife--she was the mother of my child--yet she eloped with him."
"I--I--don't believe it," said Sophy in a suffocating voice.
"If it were not true, my child, you would not be sitting there under the false name of Sophia Marlow."
"One moment," put in Alan, clasping the girl's hand, "you have yet to prove that Miss Marlow is Marie Lestrange."
"If you would not interrupt so often, I could do so," said the man insolently. "As I say, Zelia ran away with Beauchamp. He brought his yacht to Kingston when I was absent, and sailed off with her. She carried with her my child--my adorable Marie." Here Lestrange fixed an affectionate look on Sophy. "I returned to find my home dishonored," he went on, "my life wrecked. Jean came to console me. He also had heard of Beauchamp's treachery, and that the boat had sailed for Falmouth. We followed----"
Here Lestrange broke down. Whether his emotion was genuine or not, Alan could not say. He looked at Sophy, and she at him. Having fought down his emotion, the Captain resumed his seat and his story:
"Jean and I arrived at Falmouth. There we heard that Zelia was very ill, and that Beauchamp had taken her to his plantation. Dr. Warrender, our informant said, was in attendance. The whole town knew that she was my wife, that she had dishonored me, and that I was on my may to settle accounts with the man who had wrecked my happiness. My cousin and I rode out to Beauchamp's plantation, for it was within a few miles of Falmouth, as I said. The night was dark and stormy--we arrived in pouring rain, and by the wailing of the negroes we knew that death was in the house. Yes"--he grew dramatic--"Zelia was dead; torture, remorse, sorrow, had brought about her punishment!"
"You are very ready to condemn her," said Alan.
"She had dishonored me!" cried the man, waxing melodramatic. "It was well that she should die. I rushed away to her room, where she lay calm in death, and Jean remained to arrange matters with Beauchamp. I challenged him to a duel. Jean was my second. But Beauchamp refused to fight, and--he murdered Jean."
"Murdered your cousin?" queried Alan skeptically.